


How You Stay You

by nerddowell



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: 'Alien' movie references, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Body Dysphoria, Chevy is a caring kind lover and a sweetheart, Consent is Sexy, Gender Dysphoria, London based because I'm English and lazy, M/M, Oral Sex, Pegging, Sex Toys, Strap-Ons, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Philippe, Vaginal Fingering, binders, is it still pegging if the pegger is male? idk, legal eagles versailles cast, protect the Chevalier de Lorraine 2017, protect trans man Philippe d'Orleans 2017, sorry grandma, these tags are filthy, you can pry that headcanon out of my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 01:05:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11220036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerddowell/pseuds/nerddowell
Summary: Philippe is a trans man working as an intern at his brother's law firm in London. He's not out to any of his colleagues, and there's a strict binary dress code, so that's... fun.At least he gets to *ahem* blow off some steam with Chev afterwards.Title fromDelicate, Petite & Other Things I'll Never Bebecause Laura Jane Grace.





	1. Day

**Author's Note:**

> This is trans Philippe written by a trans man, because I _NEED_ more trans headcanons for my favourite fandoms, and hey, the Versailles fandom needs more smut, so. Two birds, one stone, as they say.
> 
> I really, really hope I've managed to write this in a way that isn't too dysphoria-inducing for other trans people, but I would still give a content warning for Philippe referring to his genitals the majority of the time with the traditional binary scientific labels and experiences some misgendering & body dysphoria along the way.
> 
> unbeta'ed because I'm lame and lazy af, any and all mistakes my own oops

He’s just come out of the shower, hair washed, water dripping in trails down the line of his nose and the nape of his neck, when he glances at the mirror for a split second and feels his heart drop to his stomach. The room is filled with steam and the glass is fogged up but he still can’t escape seeing the smudge of pale flesh out of the corner of his eye. He clears the glass with a towel and squints at the mirror, cursing his poor eyesight – really, he should be wearing glasses, but he can’t bring himself to get a pair, already more than enough of a pathetic case without adding near blindness to the mix. His eyes are wide, blue, with long lashes thick and dark, clumpy with water. His nose is aquiline. His lips are neither full nor thin, but they are a rosy pink that makes it look almost as though he’s always wearing lipstick. He scrubs at them with the back of his hand, hoping to wipe some of the girlish colour off, but nothing happens.

He deliberately doesn’t look below the neck.

Instead, he grabs a towel off the rack by the bathtub and attacks his hair angrily, roughly, until it’s lightly damp and sticking up in all directions like a black dandelion clock. He rubs a hand tiredly over his face and thinks about the day ahead, not ready for hours of hot rooms and loud voices and a tight chest as he waits for the end of work bell so he can breathe again – as much as he ever can.  


* * *

  
He’s not ashamed, as such. He knows there’s no shame in being him, and he knows that, as a majority shareholder and brother of the CEO of London’s most prestigious law firm, nobody who knows is going to tell him that he should be ashamed for being the way he is. But all the same, he wishes he could turn up to work in the required pencil skirt and heels without the constant barrage of _wrongness_ coming at him from every angle. And he resents Louis a tiny bit for implementing that uniform rule in the first place, as though he did it purely to spite Philippe, to make his life miserable. He doesn’t mind skirts and dresses, even enjoys them most of the time – he gets a nice breeze on the backs of his knees, and he’s had appreciative glances before, and he appreciates them in return. Everyone likes to be flattered and paid attention every so often. Today, however, is not one of those days.

By the time he reaches his office on the fifth floor, he’s got a run in his tights – his _new_ tights – and he’s scrolling desperately through his emails on his phone, trying to remember which case meeting he has first. He’s only an intern, of course, taking on cheap work at his brother’s firm to pay for his bar exams next year, but Louis has deigned to allow him to sit in on some of the cases he’s working on at the moment, and Philippe was never going to turn his nose up at opportunities like that. He knows many at the firm consider it nepotism that Philippe can swan in, barely out of university and certainly not out of student debt yet, and enter the office of the most sought-after lawyer in London and get an internship right off the bat. The privilege of being a family member, friends in high places, et cetera.

They don’t know how many times Philippe had spent sleepless nights pruning his cv, going over and over it, trying to make himself look amazing. Philippe had been put through the same gruelling interview as every other internship applicant, and probably more besides, because it had been his own brother, stone-faced and firm, on his interview panel. It felt a little bit like the final stage of the _Apprentice_ , facing Alan Sugar himself.

He shakes the memory off, quelling the small but insistent bubble of resentment swelling behind his ribcage. Taking a deep breath outside the room to calm himself, he counts to five, breathes out again, a technique his therapist has taught him for dealing with stress. He straightens his skirt – praying that Louis won’t notice and comment on the run in his tights – and steps through the door, taking a seat opposite his brother at the conference table for the morning briefing.

‘Sister,’ Louis smiles, and it doesn’t reach his eyes. ‘You’re late.’

‘I apologise,’ Philippe says calmly, pulling his legal pad and files out of his satchel, ‘the Tube this morning was horrendous, District line closures all the way from Kensington to Embankment.’ He’d had to get the overground from Olympia all the way to Canada Water before making the last leg of his journey to the Canary Wharf offices on the Jubilee line, on what felt like the only time that line had been up and running without any delays since it opened.

Louis ignores him and looks instead to Rohan on his left. ‘The Montespan divorce, where are we?’

‘Athenaïs demands full custody of the children, which Henri refuses. There’s been a great deal of mudslinging and a very untidy separation, from which Henri stands to be robbed of a third of his fortune by Madame if she succeeds in winning this case, by which I mean unless Henri pulls out St Peter himself as judge we are home and dry, and you can take your darling out to dinner at the very earliest convenience.’

Louis smiles. Philippe, on the other hand, has been taught from the get-go that a lawyer getting involved with his clients is a terrible idea and a conflict of interest, but as he knows that Louis will take no moral lessons from him, he keeps his thoughts to himself. What harm can it do, anyway? With a bit of luck Montespan-feminine and Louis will get caught out all on their own, and Philippe can just sit back with a large Coke and a box of popcorn and watch the fireworks.

‘Are we boring you, Peep?’

Philippe narrows his eyes at Louis, who blinks innocently. He knows how much Philippe hates this childhood nickname, born from his inability as a just-speaking two year old to pronounce his full name, and Louis only calls him it now when he wants to demean or embarrass him. He calls him ‘Peep’ when he is treating him like a child, and it makes Philippe’s blood boil. He glares across the table.

‘No,’ he grits out, and Louis smiles again.

‘Good. Then we can continue.’  


* * *

  
He gets an hour for lunch break, however, so he heads out of the office to Roka to grab some overpriced sushi and a glass – a _large_ glass – of Riesling. He should probably start worrying about how much he’s been drinking since he got the job with Louis, but if alcoholism is the price he must pay to get a foothold in legal practice and some decent cases, then he is going to pay it.

He hardly eats a bite, but downs two glasses of wine before making his way back to the office. He’s always handled his liquor well, so he doesn’t need to worry about outward signs of drunkenness. Instead, he barricades himself in the office and finishes every bit of paperwork he can find in his files, even the non-essentials like the ticket request forms for his university’s graduates’ ball in June and a speaker in November coming to give a lecture on gender politics. He checks his emails and watches the clock, praying for 6pm to roll around so that he can finally leave, strip out of his heels and laddered tights to put his beloved and much-abused converse and a pair of jeans on.

Louis sends him no less than seven memos about future meetings and has his secretary drop off three files full of correspondence and legal documentation relating to the Montespan divorce. He spends the rest of the afternoon firing off emails between the warring couple and the office, trying to mediate, until Marchal’s secretary Sophie knocks on his door to tell him work had finished for the day.

‘Freedom,’ he sighs happily, unzipping his skirt and stepping out of his heels. Digging his satchel – a handsome women’s model from a designer in Cambridge, powder-blue to match his shirt today and his eyes – out from under the desk, he pulls a bottle of Evian out and takes a deep draught. Today has been exhausting, despite how little he’s actually done. Every day at work seems to completely sap every last ounce of energy out of him. He puts his feet up on the desk for a minute, massaging life back into them one by one before pulling his laddered tights off by the toes and balling them up to be shoved into the bottom of his bag and no doubt forgotten about. He lets his feet breathe for another couple of minutes before spraying them with antiperspirant (he always keeps at least one can in his bag) and swinging his feet down off the desk to toe into his trainers. His jeans are folded at the bottom of his satchel, and he digs them out to put them on and zip them up, the flood of relief instantaneous.

He keeps his shirt and blazer on, at least, but undoes the second button, just low enough to skim the neckline of his binder and yet keep his delicate collarbones nicely on display. He shakes his hair out before picking up his satchel and waving goodbye to Sophie, heading straight for the Canary Wharf tube station towards his favourite bar in Mayfair. He needed a drink.  


* * *

  
At the bar, he sits in his usual spot by one of the floor-to-ceiling windows where he has a good view of the bar. He’s texted Liselotte to come and join him, if she can get away. Drinks are on him, as usual, because despite Liselotte technically being part of the aristocracy, coming from some ancient dukedom or something in Germany, her branch of the family has since landed on hard times and she can’t always afford these almost biweekly drinks splurges in bars that charge thirty quid for a basic vodka martini. Still, she arrives at his table not long after and sits herself straight down with a Moscow mule – ‘Already on your tab.’ – and fixes him with a sympathetic expression.

‘Come on, then. Tell me all about it. What has Louis done to drive you insane today?’

‘What hasn’t he done?’ asks Philippe morosely, swirling his glass of whiskey and watching the amber liquid slop up the sides. Liselotte reaches out to stay his hand.

‘You know you don’t actually have to stay there, don’t you?’

‘As if Louis would ever let me intern with anyone else.’

‘You could always come to us,’ Liselotte tells him, shrugging out of her jacket and letting her hair out of the severe bun she’d previously scraped it into. Watching the wild blonde curls suddenly spring out always brings a small smile to Philippe’s lips, and she grins back at him, giving his hand a squeeze as she uses the other to drape her jacket over the back of her chair.

‘We’re always looking for interns, and honestly, you know that you’d give the company a hell of a boost if you ever swallowed your pride enough to deign to come there. Louis de Bourbon’s brother coming to work for us – they’d be so grateful they’d probably lick your shoes clean upon entrance. It’d ensure you a job for life.’

‘So I’d be swapping one lion’s den for a pit of sycophantic arseholes,’ Philippe scoffs, and Liselotte’s face hardened.

‘Well, if you’re too good for us, then by all means, fuck off and try somewhere else.’ She glowers at him. ‘You know, not everyone has been afforded the same luxuries in life as you, Philippe. You could do far worse. But it’s pointless to argue with you, so…’

Philippe sighs and shakes his head, reaching out to cover her hand with his. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says sincerely, and she softens. ‘I’m sorry. I’m repeating every bullshit thing Louis has ever said to me, and you’re totally right. I could do much worse. But I don’t think Louis would realistically let me leave. I’m stuck at Bourbon Legal and drinking myself into a stupor here with you every Friday until I finish my internship.’ He grins.

Liselotte rolls her eyes, but clinks her glass against his in a silent cheers.


	2. Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's the porn chapter and it's filthy and romantic all at once just like our favourite boys

He’s just gotten home at 1am when a text comes through on his phone, and it’s the cute barman from his nearest dive (if anywhere in Kensington can really be called a _dive_ ). They’ve seen each other a couple of times, been on dates where they kissed and occasionally did a little more (Philippe has sucked him off on the pool table in his bar whilst the guy clawed at the baize of the table and groaned his praises), but they’ve never spent the night together yet for reasons Philippe doesn’t really want to get into with him, but he’s asking if Philippe wants to come over and Philippe is just tipsy enough to agree.

He turns up with a bottle of cheap rosé champagne (bought from the late night off-license two doors away from the nearest Tube station) in his backpack, and is buzzed up to the guy’s flat the moment he rings the bell. He’s greeted with a kiss, which has him tangling one hand in the guys’ blond curls and backing them up to press his back against the wall and wrap one leg around the other man’s legs, vaguely aware of how forward he’s being, but from the surprised, aroused moan vibrating against his tongue, the other man doesn’t mind at all.

‘I can’t even remember your name,’ Philippe confesses, panting among the needy kisses being pressed to his hungry lips, and the other guy laughs, shaking his head.

‘Just call me Chev, my darling,’ he says, and pushes Philippe down onto the bed. He pulls his shirt off and Philippe’s eyes go wide, his hands reaching up to touch of their own accord, and he pulls that endless expanse of golden skin down to suck and bite at it, taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking hard as Chev throws his head back and moans.

‘God, how I’ve missed that mouth.’

‘I’ve missed you too,’ Philippe mumbles into his chest, too busy trying to grasp as much firm flesh as he can fit in his hands. He shuffles off the bed to kneel on the floor and trails his tongue down between Chev’s pecs to nose at his beltline, glancing up with blown pupils. He doesn’t even wait for the nod to begin unbuckling his belt, just yanks his jeans down and groans when he discovers Chev going commando and a hard, leaking red cock poised right in front of his lips. He licks his lips eagerly and Chev cups the back of his head with one hand, gently drawing him forward encouragingly. Not that he needs the encouragement. He leans forwards immediately, gazing up at Chev through lowered lashes as he lavishes the head of his cock with licks and kisses, and Chev’s thighs tremble as his legs threaten to give out.

Philippe would smirk if his mouth wasn’t so busy.

Instead he sets to giving Chev the best blowjob of his life, wrapping his hand around the shaft of his cock and stroking as he bobs his head slowly, tracing figure eights over the knot of nerves under the head with the tip of his tongue. He keeps going, occasionally letting go with his hand to suck him all the way down to the root, ignoring his gag reflex and swallowing around Chev’s cock until he’s trembling all over his body and leaning against the wall, panting breathlessly. Chev’s hand clenches reflexively in Philippe’s hair and he moans weakly, trying to arch his hips where Philippe is holding them flat against the wall.

‘G-god, you’re good at that,’ he gasps, arching his back. ‘Ah – ah – f-fuck! – s-stop, time out, stop–’

Philippe gives him one last parting suck before leaning back, blinking up at him, well aware of how debauched he must look with his spit-slicked lips and blown pupils, hair messy from Chev’s hands running through it. Chev himself is panting like a racecourse, an aroused blush creeping over his chest. Philippe smirks at him.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing’s wrong, darling, quite the opposite. I was approaching the final furlong too fast, if you grasp my meaning.’ He tugs Philippe up to kiss him again, his hands pushing up under Philippe’s shirt, and his fingers catch over the edges of Philippe’s binder.

It’s like an ice cold shower over him, and Philippe wrenches away, pulling his shirt down and flushing red. He opens his mouth to try and explain, but words fail him as he looks up at Chev with eyes rapidly filling with tears. _There’s nothing to be ashamed of_ , he tells himself, but he remembers that up until now he’s been all but indistinguishable from a ‘real man’ every time Chev has seen him, and that perfect illusion is about to be ruined by the harsh slap of reality. He picks up his bag and gathers his shirt together, tries to say he’s leaving, but Chev pushes him down to sit on the bed and gently takes the hem of his shirt in one hand, fixing him with sombre, sober eyes.

‘May I?’

‘It… might not be what you’re expecting,’ he mumbles, uncrossing his arms from in front of his chest.

‘I’m expecting a man. Why, do you have feathers? Scales? Some sort of extra-terrestrial bursting from your chest like a Xenomorph?’

Philippe chokes out a laugh. ‘You like the Alien movies.’

‘On the contrary, darling, they terrify me. Hence the question.’ Chev smiles softly. ‘So unless you have any of those chronic conditions – and only the Xenomorph is a deal-breaker – I’m quite sure I’m going to be fine with whatever happens next.’

Philippe looks at him, barely breathing, for a long time before giving a short nod. Chev delicately unbuttons his shirt, bottom to top, and gently pushes the material off his shoulders, baring his bound chest to view. An embarrassed blush is spreading down from Philippe’s cheeks to his chest, staining his collarbones pink, and Chev leans closer to brush his lips lightly over the rosy skin. He takes hold of Philippe’s sides, brushing his thumbs over the tiny curves of his breasts beneath the binder, and peppers his shoulders with more kisses, so tender Philippe thinks his heart might break his ribcage apart with how hard it’s pounding.

Chev looks up a moment later, still caressing his chest over the binder with tender hands.

‘Would you like to leave this on?’

Philippe nods, a lump in his throat. Chev just smiles, kissing his cheek, and moves his hands to Philippe’s waist, brushing a thumb over the hem of his binder. Philippe squirms a little as it tickles, smiling, and Chev laughs.

‘A ticklish one, I see.’

‘You’ve discovered my secret weakness.’

‘Don’t worry, darling, my kryptonite is poor fashion choices. Some days I can barely leave the house,’ Chev says dramatically, and Philippe bursts out laughing, suddenly thoroughly at ease.

Chev toys with one of the belt loops on his jeans.

‘Can these come off?’

‘Yes,’ Philippe answers softly, and then hesitates. This is important, and so very new. He’s been with people – men – before, of course; he’s not a virgin by any stretch of the imagination. And yet, this time, with a man who sits and waits for Philippe’s consent at every tiny baby step, he feels as though he is. As though he’s never been touched, every kiss completely new on a raw body. He takes a deep breath, counting to five, and releases it again; Chev is looking directly at him, patient and caring. He reaches out and grasps Chev’s wrist, his eyes serious and searching as he gazes at Chev, tearfulness forgotten. ‘I trust you.’

‘Thank you,’ Chev says sincerely. His fingers are deft and still tentative as he unbuttons Philippe’s jeans, gently lifting him off the bed slightly to ease them over his hips, and pulls them off his legs, caressing every inch of pale skin revealed with one hand. He kisses Philippe again, soft and coaxing, his tongue teasing invitingly at the seam of Philippe’s lips, encouraging him to relax and come closer. He does, drawing Chev closer with a hand on the centre of the other man’s strong back, and Chev lays him down, coming to straddle and lie over him as he places Philippe’s hands either side of his head, linking their fingers as he lays more deep, drawing kisses on Philippe’s lips until he feels like his heart is being drawn out into Chev’s warm, protective grasp.

‘Beautiful,’ Chev murmurs, and Philippe blushes, a tiny smile coming to his lips. Chev beams.

‘Even more so.’

‘Oh, God, spare me,’ Philippe teases, his eyes sparkling. ‘I should have known you’d be a sap in bed.’

‘It’s a terrible curse, but I bear it nobly.’

Philippe laughs.

Chev kisses him again before pulling back, rifling in a drawer by the bed and removing lube and a couple of condoms and placing them on the bedcovers before squeezing Philippe’s hand gently.

‘In the interests of honesty and fairness, after you’ve allowed me to do so much, I was wondering if you’d allow me one last indulgence.’ He threads a hand through Philippe’s hair, and Philippe leans up on his elbows to look at him curiously.

‘As long as it gets one or both of us off,’ Philippe says, acutely aware of the semi-hardness between Chev’s thighs and the insistent ache between his own legs, dampening his boxer shorts.

‘Well, I very much hope it will do so for you, and it’s a great favourite of mine no matter the partner.’ Chev hesitates for a moment, suddenly – and uncharacteristically – shy, before smiling at him. ‘I have a rather lovely harness in one of these drawers and I was wondering if, if you wouldn’t mind... if you could fuck me.’

Philippe stares at him for a moment. That was the last thing he’d expected Chev to say, but at the same time, it fills him with excitement. To use a harness, to fuck Chev like a real man… He imagines Chev on his back beneath him, his mouth open in an O and his eyes rolling back in his head, crying out Philippe’s name, and feels another, stronger throb between his legs. He slips his hand down between them to rub at his folds, and his fingers slide through slick wetness, the delicate skin coming alive under his fingertips as a jolt of electricity shoots through him. He imagines the grinding of Chev’s hips and the harness against his clit and bites his lip.

‘I would be… amenable to that.’

Chev lets out a breath and beams. ‘Excellent.’ He rolls over and opens his nightstand drawer, removing a black harness, which he dumps on the bed, and a dildo so realistic Philippe almost has to do a double-take. He picks the harness up curiously, turning it this way and that in mid-air to work out how it fits, and discovers that it has one large strap to go around his waist and two smaller ones for around his thighs, all connecting to a pouch at the front with a ring to hold a toy. Chev hands him the dildo with a grin.

‘Do you want to try putting it on?’

Philippe blushes, but nods determinedly. He shucks his boxers awkwardly and Chev helps hold out the harness as he steps into it. They adjust the buckles and ties together, Chev wholeheartedly taking the opportunity to touch as much of Philippe’s body as possible. His fingers linger in the space between Philippe’s legs under the guise of making sure the inner thigh straps aren’t too tight, but Philippe twitches them closed nervously and he removes his hand quickly, running a hand through his hair and making soothing noises.

Chev shows him how to attach the dildo, and then lies back on his elbows on the bed, watching with a soft smile as Philippe runs his hands over the straps. The leather is as soft as butter, flexible and lightly padded where it wraps around his thighs and waist. He gyrates his hips a little, trying to get used to the sensation, and although the slight shifting of the leather over his inner thighs as he moves is a little distracting, it feels natural. Watching the dildo on the front bob and move as he moves, he can forget about the harness entirely and see an extension of his own body, and tears threaten to spring to his eyes for the thousandth time tonight. He is himself, wholly and completely. Tonight is a night of firsts, it would seem.

He wraps his hand around the dildo, his cock, giving it a stroke curiously. It’s cold, as he’d half-expected, but it feels soft and firm, like the real thing. He thrusts into his hand to get the sensation of resistance pushing back against his body, and gasps softly at the friction against his clit. Chev laughs softly and waggles his eyebrows.

‘Meet with your approval, my love?’

‘Very much so,’ he grins, and climbs up onto the bed to straddle Chev, leaning on his hands to gaze down at him. Chev grins, shifting him up a little more to take the tip of the dildo into his mouth, sucking and teasing with his tongue in a positively pornographic show purely for the pleasure of it. Philippe groans and dives down for a kiss.

‘You’re filthy.’

‘I do my best, darling. Now, I hate to be impatient, but seeing a very handsome young man with a hard cock all ready to make me cry is very distracting and I would rather like to be being fucked right now.’

‘Your wish, my command,’ Philippe grins, and picks up the lube bottle from the bed, squeezing some onto his fingers carefully. Chev spreads his legs under him eagerly, smiling encouragingly at him, and wraps his hand around the dildo, stroking slowly as he waits for Philippe to get started. Philippe trails his fingers down between Chev’s legs until he feels the pucker of his entrance, and he rubs over it for several moments, making sure it’s slick and relaxed. Chev whines softly in the back of his throat, tossing his head back, and Philippe shoots him a quick grin before returning to the task at hand.

Massaging over Chev’s hole, he teases the tip of a finger inside, laughing quietly when Chev’s body grasps greedily at it before pulling away and going back to circling his fingertips around. Chev raises his head to playfully glower at him, and the message is received loud and clear. He pushes again gently until he’s got his finger inside Chev to the second knuckle, and he just takes his time getting used to the sensation – hot, smooth skin and a tight grip of muscles around his finger – before pulling out and adding extra lube before working a second finger in. Chev moans at the stretch and cants his hips slightly, drawing Philippe in deeper, and his fingertips brush over a slightly raised, ridged patch inside him that makes Chev suck in a breath through his teeth and then moan again, louder.

‘That’s it, there, that’s perfect,’ he nods frantically, and Philippe beams, proud of himself. Truly a night of firsts. He crooks his fingers slightly, rubbing the very tips of his fingers over the right spot, and Chev sighs blissfully. Emboldened, Philippe crooks his fingers and rubs and twists, scissoring gently, and teases Chev into a light sheen of sweat, his hand on the dildo slowing and stuttering as he loses himself in pleasure. Philippe watches him in fascination, taking in every hitch of breath and flutter of long eyelashes and cradling them in his chest as treasures. He’s enraptured.

‘Please,’ Chev moans, grasping desperately at his biceps, ‘please, please – fuck – I need – I need you to–’

Philippe smiles and kisses his forehead, pushing his sweat-damp hair off his face.

‘I hear you, loud and clear.’

He lubes his hand up again and strokes over the dildo, slicking it up carefully before bringing it to Chev’s entrance, guiding it inside slowly. The angle is awkward, and he tries to adjust his position to make things easier, but it takes several instances of the dildo popping out – making Chev laugh and Philippe blush and apologise awkwardly – before he pulls Chev’s leg up to rest over his shoulder and guides himself back in, and that seems to work from the way Chev rumbles a groan from the bottom of his chest and grips at Philippe’s arms.

‘ _Yes_ –’

Philippe draws back, marvelling at the greedy resistance of Chev’s body against the retreat before pushing back in and making Chev whine, the gentle rub against his own clit a delicious tease. Getting used to fucking with a harness – to being the one in charge, instead of the recipient – takes him a while, often accompanied by moans and sharp noises from Chev, and his accompanying whispers of apology (followed by ‘I’m in no discomfort, darling, if you could only do that _again_ –!’) until he manages to get into a rhythm and Chev is nearly incoherent beneath him, hands stuttering between grasping Philippe so strongly he leaves bruises in his wake, and clawing at the duvet in sheer desperation.

Philippe drives into him with all the force he can muster, having realised within a couple of moments that Chev likes things rough when he’s bottoming, and Chev howls, writhing on the bed as the dildo drags mercilessly over his prostate yet again. Philippe leans against his leg, gripping Chev’s thigh for leverage, and uses his other hand to wrap around Chev’s cock and jerk him off in quick, sloppy strokes. This apparently makes things even better, from the way that Chev sobs and arches his back, fucking his hips up into Philippe’s hand and then back onto the dildo, and Philippe can relate to the feeling. He feels similarly torn between watching himself fuck into Chev and staring at his face, which is flushed and sweaty with pleasure, eyelashes casting shadows over his cheeks under the light and wet, desperate mouth open in an O as he cries Philippe’s name again. With only a light, teasing friction against his clit, he’s nowhere near coming himself despite the fact that he’s all but throbbing with the need for relief; he ignores it so he gets to watch Chev’s orgasm build instead, and loses himself in driving Chev wild.

He tightens his grip around Chev’s cock, strokes once, twice more, and Chev’s back arches and he sobs – actually _sobs_ – as he comes, streaks of come splattering over his own abdomen and Philippe’s, and Philippe’s breath actually catches in his throat and he moans loudly, unable to tear his eyes away as he milks the last dribbles of come out of Chev’s dick and slows his thrusts before pulling out as gently as he can manage. Chev is boneless on the bed, chest heaving, but he smiles tiredly and wraps an arm around Philippe’s shoulders when he lays down beside him and runs his fingertips over his chest, smearing traces of come over the lines of his pectorals.

‘That,’ Chev murmurs, nuzzling Philippe’s jaw satedly, ‘was perfect. For me, at least. However, I can’t help noticing that you don’t seem to be sharing my post-orgasmic bliss, so it would seem that my job is not yet done.’ He grins at Philippe, catlike. ‘And I’m usually a pillow queen, so you’re one of a favoured few.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll count myself lucky,’ Philippe says dryly, and then yelps as Chev dives down the bed and yanks his legs up over his shoulders, burying his face between Philippe’s legs and holding him down with one hand whilst the other teases at his opening.

All thoughts of his earlier discomfort at being touched there fly out of Philippe’s head at how good it feels, and Chev’s tongue licks over his clit as he dips one finger into him, moaning at how wet he is. Philippe bucks his hips, grinding his clit against that teasing, knowing tongue, and Chev pushes another finger into him and crooks them, pushing and rubbing at some spot inside him that sends waves of pleasure crashing through him that build and build until with a scream he comes and comes, legs shaking either side of Chev’s head and spine arched and taut as a bowstring. As the waves subside, he collapses back against the mattress, head still spinning, as Chev lets his legs down and wriggles back up next to him, lips and chin glistening wetly, and Philippe drags him in for a kiss, not even caring that he can taste himself on Chev’s tongue as he licks at his lips.

Chev pulls away and rolls to lay on his back, turning his head to look at Philippe.

‘You know, next time…’

‘Hmm?’

‘Next time, we’ll have to get you a harness of your own, and lots of toys to go with it. I fully intend to spend the rest of my life being fucked six ways to Sunday, my darling, if that’s alright by you.’

‘Hmm,’ Philippe says, grinning at him, ‘I suppose I could live with that.’

**Author's Note:**

> whoo boy.
> 
> anyway if you guys want more trans philippe read [my headcanons](http://transdorleans.tumblr.com/post/161889031827/as-blessedchevalier-euryalus-and) on the subject and also let me know here or on [my tumblr!](http://transdorleans.tumblr.com)


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